


Alone At Last

by MirandaShepard_93



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Courtship, Cunnilingus, F/M, Finger Sucking, Finger kissing, Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, Massage, Massage as Foreplay, Pining, Praise Kink, Size Kink, but also a grumpy boi, good old fashioned romance, he has nice hands ok, romantic, steapa is a soft boi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29024322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandaShepard_93/pseuds/MirandaShepard_93
Summary: Always at the ready, always on duty - Steapa rarely has a moment to himself, let alone a moment of peace with a woman.As a foreigner in Winchester, Aoife is always alone - she has nothing but moments to herself. Not a Dane, not a Saxon, and rarely in the company of her fellow Celt, Finan, she has an abundance of time in which to notice Steapa's loneliness. And his kindness. And she's determined to keep him company.This is set to be a smut fic which takes Size Kink and Praise Kink to the absolute limit - it was MEANT to be a one-shot so please don't expect much in the way of plot. This is PWP/Romantic nonsense only!
Relationships: Steapa (The Last Kingdom)/Other(s), Steapa/OFC
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

He appeared in the tavern now and then, sat by himself nursing a few tankards of ale and then went home. He rarely spoke to anyone, and the girls never approached him, which was strange, Aoife thought. _Not as if he's a bad looking man... quite handsome in a weather-worn way._ In fact, she fancied the other women thought so too; he was a bit of a brute to look at, but there was something soft around the edges that made him seem... protective rather than dangerous. At one point he stood to wave another man over, and they spoke for a few seconds. Just enough time for Aoife to take stock of him; he was hugely tall and broad. He loomed, but had a habit of lowering his head as if he was aware of it and couldn't help it. As he spoke to the smaller man, Aoife let her eyes travel over him discreetly - the broad shoulders, the heavy hands, the thick waist and hips that were only slightly narrowed - he had a brawlers build, _a bull, that's what they called them,_ she remembered seeing men like him at the warrior trials as a child. They didn't fire bows or take part in agility shows. They stood, very calmly, slightly lopsided, _why did they all hunch like that? As if hiding from their own bodies?_ They were still... until they weren't, and then they moved with brutal speed and flattened their opponents. 

Not glamorous, perhaps, but efficient. Her father would slap her brothers' shoulder before each round, and give him advice, but when the last fights came all he said was, 

_"Watch that Colum, he's a bull. Don't let him charge you."_

And, of course, he had - Colum McGreevey _had_ charged, and flattened her brother so thoroughly that her mother screamed, worried he was dead. Aoife smiled and shook the golden tendrils of the past away. 

"Who is that?" She asked Eta, the barmaid, motioning as discreetly as possible to the man,

"Him?" Eta nodded to him as she wiped down the worn counter. 

"Aye, I see him in here every other week. He sits at the same table, in the same chair, drinks the same drinks and leaves. Certain as the sunrise," Aoife said with a laugh, 

"That's Steapa," Eta said with a fond smile, "he's a good man. Looks a bit of a brute, but he's sweet as a lamb... most of the time. Quiet is all."

"Everyone avoids him," Aoife said dubiously, as placid as he looked, lamb was not a word she would associate with him. 

"They're scared of him, pet," Eta said almost self-consciously as if she was aware of the irony, 

"Scared?" She asked, "why?"

"He's the kings man," Eta said, and when Aoife shrugged, she sighed

"Aren't they all Alfreds men, here?"

"No, pet, I mean he's the Kings Man, his left hand. Alfred says kill, and Steapa swings the sword. An bow aims for the King, Steapa takes the arrow."

"Oh... he's his Thane?"

"No, he's... its Steapas job to protect and serve the King _directly,_ no-one between them."

"He's his second?" Aoife asked desperately, feeling more stupid by the second, Eta gave her a kind smile and patted her hand, 

"Something like that."

"Things were simpler back home," she said miserably,

"There's Kings in the North, surely," Eta laughed, 

"Aye... but it's different. Less ordering and more cooperating."

"And hows that working for them?" Eta said wrly, 

"Well, we're not half in Danelaw," Aoife snapped, "they're. They're not half in Danelaw, the isles are all but swallowed."

"Is that where you came from... before they took you?" 

"I think so," she smiled, "my mother wore blue on her face, like whirlpools."

"Aye..." Eta faded away. Poor woman hated when she spoke about it - couldn't bare to think of her own children taken by slaving ships, Aoife supposed, but who else had she to tell the stories to? Her eyes landed on the man again, _Steapa,_ and her feet carried her without permission to his table. She felt heads and eyes follow her surreptitiously. He looked up at her with more than a touch of wariness; on closer inspection, she realised he was younger than he looked from a distance, though still a decade her senior, at least. The skin on his face was smooth enough, though there were fine laughter lines around his eyes. She couldn't imagine him laughing too heartily, not when he was giving her such a stern look. 

"Can I help you?" He asked, and his voice was surprisingly light. Not the low growl that she expected, but a smooth, medlodious baritone that washed over her like clear honey. 

"Where I come from, it's bad luck to drink alone at this time of year," Aoife placed her mug on the table, "can I drink with you?"

He let out a huff that and shook his head, but there was a twinkle in his eye and a curl to his lips when he motioned to the table, 

"Be my guest," he said and signalled for more ale. When it came, Eta giving her a questioning look, he drew in a breath and leaned forward, "are you well?" He asked quietly, almost with concern, 

"I... aye, are you?" Aoife said with a small laugh, 

"Yes..." Steapa drew the word out, "forgive me, I assumed you were looking for a shield of sorts?"

"What?"

"Is a man bothering you?"

"You're the only man here," Aoife wrinkled her nose, and he snorted, 

"I meant, did you come over here to get away from a man?"

"No... should I have?"

"That's usually how I end up with company," he said, but the smile on his face was growing, 

"Well, I'm afraid I came over to seek your company, not to escape someone else," Aoife spread her hands, "I hope that's alright?" Steapa leaned back gave her a searching look that seemed to strip her clothes away,

"Did you now?" He drawled and she nodded,

"Well, you're clearly the life of the party." She shrugged, making him snigger.

Steapa finished the last of his ale with a smooth, practised motion before reaching for another, 

"You're not from Winchester." It was a statement, not a question, but Aoife grinned, 

"What gave me away? The red hair? The speech?"

"The fact that you didn't come to me looking for an audience with the King," Steapa said and smiled at her, making her heart jump. It was a surprisingly boyish smile; shy and somewhat crooked, he looked down at his ale as if shamed by his own joke and then peered back up at her from under his heavy brows. The effect was more endearing than it should have been, _he's lonely._ He seemed to relax, broad shoulders lowering as he stretched, twisting his neck to elicit a surprisingly loud crack as he rolled his head from side to side. "So... you're not a Dane, nor are you Irish or Welsh... but I don't see that you're a Scot," he said, 

"Am I not?"

"You don't look like any I've ever met, nor do you sound like one." He said and blinked slowly, surprisingly long eyelashes catching the candlelight and turning golden for a moment, 

"The world is full of people you've never met, soldier," Aoife said with a low sweetness that would have made her flush had he not chuckled and blushed himself, 

"Very true, Lady, I apologise,"

"I'm from the far north," she said, "the Isles of Orkney. But I... was in the keeping of Danes for a while. That's probably why you can't quite pin me down." _Though I wouldn't mind if you did._ She flushed at the treacherous thought, and for a moment fancied he might have seen it cross her mind when his eyes narrowed. Instead, he nodded, 

"That makes sense."

"And you are a Wessexman through and through," Aoife laughed, "it's written on every part of you... Saxon to the bone... though at your size I could have taken you for a Gaul." 

"Could you?"

"Oh yes, fur and leather would be fetching on you," she said, and he laughed again, this time from the belly. The tavern stopped as he did, and though she knew it was for the novelty of it, she fancied it was the sound, too. It was a rich, smooth sound that crept into the secret places of you and made you feel _seen._ He grinned at her, all those laughter lines in full use, and she felt as if she was in good company for the first time since entering Winchester. 

"Oh aye," Steapa said, "and the horse smell to go with it."

"I hate to break it to you friend..." she spread her hands and raised her brows,

"I'll have you know I bathe, lady," he pointed a thick finger, _put it in your mouth,_ she flushed, taken by the image - where was this coming from? "Regularly."

"With your horse?" She asked, and he dissolved into laughter again, but when he raised his head the sweetness and warmth drained out; his eyes flicked over her head and she understood why others avoided him. He was, in a flash, a killer, 

"Father Beocca?" 

"The King wishes to see you, Steapa," the voice was kind and soothing, even when not directed at her. Aoife looked over her shoulder, 

"Hello, my child, I am sorry to interrupt," Beocca said, but his eyes were flicking between them, 

"It's alright," Aoife said, "I was taking up too much of your time, anyway," she said to Steapa and he shook his head, waving a great, scarred hand, 

"Not at all," he murmured as he stood, 

"You're Thyra's husband are you not?" She asked, realisation dawning and Beocca nodded, then a light seemed to flare behind his eyes, 

"Yes, of course, Aoife is it? How could I forget," he pressed his hands to her shoulders and squeezed in a fatherly way that made her eyes sting, "Thyra wanted to invite you to dinner tomorrow, will you come?"

"Of course, father," Aoife said, and turned to Steapa - but he was already gone. 

***

It was weeks before she saw him again. At the dinner, Thyra had chirped and fluttered around her, as she always did, with a kind of anxious, maternal care that was misguided but appreciated. Aoide wondered if she was a little lonely, too, despite having Beocca by her side through the nights. The night was when Aoife felt it the most - the isolation. In the darkness the tiny house she had managed to secure felt like a gaping abyss. There was no sound in Winchester at night or none that felt soothing. On the Dane's ships, there had been the sound of the sea. At home, the wind and the birds and the cattle in the distance. But here... eerie silence punctuated by a shout or a shrill laugh. 

Or the sound of her neighbours fucking. _Gods damn you, woman, don't you have enough children?_ She pressed the blankets to her face as the sound of Jeannie, her neighbour, squealing became too much. Despite the sleeplessness and frustration, her body was tingling. It had been so long. She let her hand trail down to touch her slit over her smalls, _what's the harm?_ She sighed and slid her hand under the fabric, flushing at the wet slick under the soft hair there, and closed her eyes to the blinding darkness. She imagined nothing, at first, and then found a memory, old and well worn, of a sweet Dane boy who had been kind to her when she was 17. But his face faded quickly and was replaced by another one that made her breath hitch. Her eyes flew open in the dark, and Aoife swung her legs out of bed, getting dressed quickly and sticking a knife in her boot before stepping out into the darkness. She followed the moon into the broad town square and made for the walls. You couldn't walk the top of the walls, she had found, if you were not a guard, but walking the base was a safe way to get around at night. 

By the time the burning in her face had subsided, she realised she was past the blacksmiths and well on her way to the palace, 

"Shit," she muttered, turning quickly only to smack into a wall of some kind. The wall grunted, 

"Watch yourself, woman," the voice was tinged with weariness and irritation, but she knew it instantly, _Gods, really?_

"Sorry," she said sheepishly and peered up at Steapa. He blinked in the moonlight and then recognition spread through his face, changing his body language as it went, 

"Oh, it's you," he said, 

"It's me," Aoife said and spread her hands, "not that I was - I was just out for an evening walk, well, midnight walk-"

"You never gave me your name," he said, 

"Aoife."

"That's right..." he was looking at her strangely, "I remember Beocca... I'm Steapa."

"I know," she said, and he gave a low huff, "you haven't been in the tavern since... you know no-one sits at your table when you're not there?"

"I didn't," he laughed and looked at his boots, "I've been... things have been busy."

"That's a shame..." Aoife said, and in a fit of madness let her mouth take over, "I've been lonely without your company."

"Oh?" He said with a sly smile and a sparkle in his eye,

"Yes... well, that and I have no-one to scare away the _many_ men who are intent on charming me." She shrugged and revelled in that low, rich laugh as it washed over her again. Gods she _had_ been lonely. It was wonderful strange what an hour or two of good company can do to make the rest of your life dreary. Steapa grinned down at her, but for a moment she fancied she saw a little flash of... something. Something that knew it had no right to be in his mind, but was there anyway. Something in the twist of his mouth before he smiled that looked a little like jealousy, 

"Oh I have no doubt... shall I stay away, then?" He asked, "and not frighten them away again?"

"No," she murmured, "I think I'd rather have your company than their praise." The air between them became thick, 

"Then I shall be back," he said, "in the meantime, perhaps you'll allow me to walk you home? I would feel uneasy leaving you alone at this time of night."

"I am capable of finding my own way... but I would appreciate the company."

And they walked in silence. Silence she was used to, but there was a difference between the silence of being alone and the silence of someone being quiet by your side. This was a warm silence that envolped her. She could smell him - fire smoke, leather, and the thin, harsh scent of whatever he used to wash. And under that, the smell of outdoor living. Felted wool and horses. She snorted, 

"What is it, miss?" He asked wryly, and she could feel him straining against the silence between each word, 

"I can smell horses," she said, and he chuckled, but it was nervous - _he knows._ She hadn't been subtle enough, it seemed, _he knows you can smell him. He knows you took notice,_

"I've been living with horses for a week or two now," he said, "in fact, I've only just returned. I walked through the gates after sunset."

"And here I have you playing bodyguard, I am sorry, Steapa,"

"No," he turned and took her hand as they stopped outside her door, "it was my pleasure... though I would ask that you don't walk the streets at night. Winchester is not as safe as I would like it to be, Lady." His voice was low and warm, somehow muted, like the golden light that seeps into a warm bedroom on a summer morning. 

"I won't make you a promise I'll only break," Aoife said with as much levity as she could muster, "the nights are long, here, and the dark is heavy. Walking eases my mind."

"Are you well?" He asked, an echo of that first meeting, 

"Aye, aye," she said, waving her hand, "just lonely." The last two words snuck out without her leave. His eyes shone in the dark, 

"I understand that feeling well," he said, _would you like to keep me company, then, Steapa?_ She smiled, _would you chase away the dark with those killers hands?_

"Do you? No family to return to?" It was a shameless question, and she fancied his mouth curled,

"No. Never had the time for a woman. Then when I had the time, I lacked the charm."

"I wouldn't say that," she said, "you're charming enough."

"I'm glad you think so," he said and hooked his thumbs under his belt, looking away into the distance, "well... if you must walk at night over the next few weeks, perhaps you should find your way to my guard station on the east wall. We're short of men, and I've drawn the night watch closest to the palace." His body was rigid, his jaw jutting, as if ready for a fight, _he's afraid,_

"I might... but only if you promise me something,"

"Oh?"

"Let me bring you dinner?" She smiled, and he grinned, looking down at his boots again, kicking the ground like a nervous boy, 

"I dare say I could bring myself to allow that," Steapa said with a smile and a nod before running his hand over his face. "I shall...bid you goodnight then, and hope you sleep easy."

"And I you." 

When he was gone, she pressed her back to the door and took a deep, shaking breath, letting the wave of tingling lighting that was washing over her body find its way into her head, into the pit of her stomach. It had been so long since she felt that heat. The desire to melt into a puddle at a man's feet. It clawed at her well into the morning light. 

And in the night, a few days later, she walked the east wall with a small, stone pot under her arm and a basket over her elbow. And she shouldn't have felt like a blushing girl. _You shouldn't be riding the edge of the mattress thinking about him at night either, but here we are,_ she flushed furiously and dipped her head to pass some drunks, both glad and jarred by the sight of the stairs ahead, 

"Ey - talkin' to you," one of the drunks peeled off, stumbling after her making the sort of kissing noises she usually associated with someone trying to call a cat, "ey! I want to speak to you, gel-"

"I suggest you turn around, Roland, before I come down there," Steapa's voice floated from above, 

"Uh... aye, well..." and Rolands voice, along with his presence, faded. Aoife smiled and took the stairs as slowly as she could bear to, perhaps just to see if he would come to find out whether she had decided to walk on by. It was a cruel trick to play, she knew, but it was gratifying to see his boots appear at the top of the stairs as she kept her eyes lowered, 

"Miss," he said, and she raised her eyes finally. _Oh._ He was different - cleaner than the other times she had seen him, his clothes were... tidier and the beard that had been forming when she had last seen him was gone. No smell of horse, tonight. He looked... well, edible, to be honest, 

"Steapa," she said, blushing furiously in the light of the torches on the wall. The formality he insisted on had a way of making her feel... bare. As if he was putting her on a pedestal. As if this were one of those stories where the princess is courted by a knight - as if she was someone worth the effort. Yet, he seemed to want her informality - he smiled when she used his name, and drew closer. 

"You came."

"I told you I would," she said, and the silence took on that loaded quality again, he loomed, _oh Gods,_ but he couldn't help it. She thrust the basket between them in a desperate attempt to protect herself from the desire to fall at his feet, "and I brought dinner... it's just stew, and some bread. And wine." He smiled, 

"It smells lovely." He said and took the basket, holding out a hand, "come, there are chairs." His broad, smooth hand was warm and dry, just like she expected, and swallowed her hand whole. Like a bear paw. He stared down at her with something like awe, 

"Are you alright?" She asked, 

"I... yes, I just never realised how small your... I'm fine," he stepped back and motioned to the chair, _hands - he never realised how small your hands are - is he imagining them on his face before he kisses you? On his shoulders - his cock?_ She blushed and sat, _well, if he isn't now I am._ It would be like being enveloped in him, if she were under him. How small she would feel. How safe. She couldn't meet his eyes as they ate. The silences were getting deeper, hotter, every time they met. How long before they burned her up? She came back the next night, and the next. And the next, and went home burning every time - until one night he wasn't there, and she slunk home feeling stung. Perhaps all his silences were simply a loss for words, and his kindness had been just that - kindness. Or worse, pity. She was lonely, after all, and he knew that - _you told him just that._ Perhaps he had been lonely. The look on the guardsmans face had made her glad the basket on her elbow was under her cloak. She was sitting at her table, drinking the ale and eating the bread slowly, trying to soothe the voice in her head that was telling her every humiliating possibility it could conjure when there was a light rapping at the door. 

Steapa looked sheepish, which was a feat for a man the size of a bear, and he had something behind his back, 

"I... heard you were looking for me," he said, "I'm sorry I-"

"It's alright," she said brightly, "it's not like we had plans, I was just passing by." _With dinner. And the stupid hope you might smile at me. For the sixth night in a row._ He looked a little defeated for a moment, and then gave her a strange, lopsided smile, 

"Well, this is awkward," he said and produced a small bunch of wildflowers from behind his back, "I thought I might give you these to say sorry."

"Oh... Steapa," Aoife said, "you shouldn't have."

"I know, I know, it was foolish of me," he said and rubbed the back of his neck, "but I... like you and I had thought for a moment... though it did seem too good to be true, I hope you'll forgive my boldness-" the words died in his throat when she took the flowers and wrapped her arms around his waist, 

"Thank you, they're lovely," she said into his chest before looking up at him, "would you like to come in?"

"I... yes." The word rumbled through him and shook her to the core. 

***

He didn't bother to pretend he wasn't courting her, after that, though he often seemed lost when Aoife courted him back. When dropped into his training sessions with something to eat, or brought him warm wine on night watch, he fumbled his words and blushed like a country boy, or else stared at her as if lost for words. Like he was now. His breath curled in the air beside the steam from the wine, and then she shivered and he seemed to rouse. Without thinking he raised a great, heavy arm and pulled her under it, wrapping her in his cloak and heat and smell. And they got under her skin, into her mind and body, making her itch and fizz, _Gods just take me, you could have me now... just..._

"Much better," she said, looking up as he drank to cover his blush. She was starting to map out his actions, to read him like a book. It was a surprisingly complex one, but it was written large, with fairly blunt words. She smirked and watched his throat bob, 

"Thank you," he said, smiling now he had his balance, "for this." 

"You're welcome," she whispered and snaked her arms around his waist, enjoying the way his body tightened and shuddered a little too much. _Just a kiss, please,_ he wanted to, she knew. She caught him staring at her mouth when he thought she was too busy talking, or when she looked away. He leaned, sometimes, after the second tankard, _loomed, Gods bless him he always looms,_ as if being drawn down by a force he couldn't understand, eyes flicking to her mouth over and over, but he never quite acted on the burning need in his eyes. Then a voice in her head told her it was happening now; he was staring down at her with a strange, soft look in his eyes as if he couldn't believe she was there. 

"You kill me," he murmured, so soft that it was almost nothing. His fingers grazed her face, "I don't know how... but-" the sentence died with a soft hiss as Aoife turned her head and clasped his hand to her face, opening her mouth to kiss one fingertip, then the next, letting her tongue trace over them, "Christ, woman." The words were hoarse but focussed. No haze, now, not in his voice, and not in his eyes when she looked up at him. 

"Captain?"

The voice cut the moment to the bone, and the white-hot rage that flashed across Steapas face wavered somewhere between terrifying and arousing. 

"What?" He barked, and the soldier seemed to quake, _poor boy,_ the pity was coloured with irritation, no matter how hard she tried. He was tongue-tied, eyes flicking between them desperately as he realised he had stepped into something private, "Speak, boy!" Steapa stepped towards him, leaving her in the space he left behind, 

"The - the King wants to see you..."

"Doesn't he always," Steapa growled and swept past the soldier, "see Miss Sloan home, boy, and mind your manners."

Aoife patted him on the arm, despite wanting to throttle him, and Steapa, 

"It's alright, honey," she said as they started to walk, "he'll forget all about it by lunch."

"Really?"

"Um... well, no, probably not, but he'll be far too busy to do you any damage," she said cheerfully as he paled. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little smut - I know that's all you're here for :P

Whatever Steapa was doing by lunchtime, it gave him no time to see her - so Aoife burned alone. The press of his hand against her face had been enough to set a fire that showed no signs of dying down. Nearly three months they had been dancing around each other if you counted the time that he was away, and he had yet to kiss her. If it weren't for the look in his eyes, she would have sworn that he felt nothing for her. As it was they were stuck in a cycle of 'close but not close enough' that had made her nights hell. _You're acting like a country girl in her first courtship,_ Aoife smiled at dough she was kneading and then made a decision. Wiping her hands on her apron, Aoife stepped into the street and called to a group of children, 

"You, you're Serah Goodwins boy, aren't you?" A gangly boy of around 12 nodded and stepped forward, "do you know Steapa? The kings man?"

"Everyone knows the Lord Steapa," the boy said with a snort, "he kicks the drunks out of the taverns come Lent."

"Right... well, can you deliver him a message?" 

"Aye... for a price,"

"Well, I was going to offer you a silver, but any more cheek and I'll offer your mother my understanding of how you spend your days, yes?" Aoife crossed her arms and he paled, "oh, fine, but you get it when you come back with his answer." He nodded eagerly, "Tell him Aoife is making lamb for dinner, and need to know how many plates to set." He grinned, but repeated it word for word, "good, off you go." She watched him go then turned to the smaller children, "who would like to earn some coppers running errands?" They crowded around without hesitation.

***

The dress still fit, and for that she was grateful. It was one of the few things she had to remind her of home. Of her mother, specifically. Not that it had been her mothers, or even hers - she was far too young when the Dane's took her, but Lief, a kind-hearted man with a personal agenda, had brought her it not long before she escaped. It was a style that she had been told was considered indecent here, but it shone so prettily in the firelight - she couldn't say why she had grabbed it on her way out, nor why she had kept it. Now she was glad she had; it was a dress for springtime, all made of lace and white linen and ribbons. If you tied it right the bodice held itself up while the slip straps slid from the shoulders, giving the impression that it was somehow dripping from your body. Yes, it was a springtime dress - designed for those playing their part in the dances of the seasons, it was _supposed_ to be indecent. Well, that wasn't true; it was supposed to be enticing, it was supposed to make one think of fertility and for the people of Winchester those things seemed to be mutually inclusive.

The lamb was nearly done, the fresh bread was rising, and the wine was cooling by the door. There was nothing to do but wait, and that was the part she had been dreading most. He had said he would, of course, and so she knew he would... Steapa was nothing if not a man of his word, but minute by minute she started to tremble at the thought of him seeing her in this way. Would it break the silence between them? _Will he think you're nothing but a common whore?_ No. She shook her head and considered changing, not for the first time, before forcing herself to sit at the table and take a deep breath. _Why does this place always look so shabby when someone is coming?_ Her parents had lived in a wide, warm hall. A pagan hall they would call it here, not without derision, but it was warmer and cleaner than every home in Winchester. _And certainly more welcoming._ She picked her nails, chewed her lips, and drew in deep breaths as time trickled by in a sluggish stream. The sun crept low, the lamb cooked through, eventually, she took it away from the fire and picked at her nails. She opened the bottle of wine and poured a glass, throwing it back before pouring another as well as an optimistic second... _just in case he comes...why hasn't he come?_ It was a pathetic, whining question. A little girls question. 

The knock at the door was somehow loud... and sheepish. 

He looked like hell - tired and stressed and guilty, with a fresh bruise blooming under one eye,

"Miss Sloan, I-"

"Oh Gods, come in," she gripped his arm and pulled him in, "out of the rain, goodness what happened to you? You look terrible, well not terrible, but tired. Here, sit by the fire, I have wine-" The words were cut off by his gentle hand closing like an iron vice on the back of her neck, pulling her in and up. He smelled of rain and the sharp, cheap soap he used to wash, and under it something else... something animal and hard to place. The stubble on his chin scraped hers as he tucked his head to kiss her. _So simple, so easy... why didn't I think of this?_ His lips were surprisingly soft but insistent; when she retreated, legs taken with a sudden shaking nervousness, he followed. And followed. Until her back hit the counter and they jerked apart, almost guiltily. 

"I... forgive my boldness," he said suddenly, clearing his throat, "it's... just so good to see you." His eyes flicked down to her dress and back up; a pink flush crept over his face and neck, 

"Hard day?" She asked weakly, and he nodded, 

"I'm sorry I'm so late."

"That's alright."

"I expected you to be angry," he said suddenly, looking at his boots again, "after the interruption... it would be understandable."

"I'm not angry," Aoife said and reached over to take his hand, squeezing it. It was like holding leather covered steel, but his eyes were full of softness."I'm pleased you came." And the silence drew out between them again, taut as a strung bow, "I have wine, and the lamb is cooked - though it might be a bit cold, but I could heat it-" _why are you wintering like a gormless chicken?_ "though I suppose-" He stepped forward again, this time with more confidence, hemming her in against the counter with his body, hands on her waist, and kissed her again, smiling against her lips when she whimpered. _So much for taking charge._ She batted the thought away and slid her hands slowly up his chest, feeling his heart hammer even with the layers of his tunic and doublet between them. _Not as calm as you pretend, then._ But his hands stayed on her waist, maddeningly proper. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling her body flush against him, and felt a rumble coming from somewhere inside his chest, but he only closed his arms around her waist and pulled away, 

"Cold is fine," he said, "don't trouble yourself."

"It's no trouble, I-"

"I don't want your attention on the stove, Miss," he said, and she flushed, 

"At this point, it might be best to call me Aoife?"

"Aoife." Her name sounded strange on his tongue - the sounds weren't made for Saxons. It sounded like 'Ava' when he said it, but she smiled, 

"That's better." She patted his chest and kicked her feet a little, laughing when he muttered 'oh' and placed her gently on the ground. Aoife reached for the goblet and held it out to him, "Wine?"

"Thank you," he murmured, "I... actually brought some, too." He produced a bottle from... somewhere on his person and sat it on the rough wooden counter she used for food preparation. In the corner of the room, poorly shielded by a curtain, her bed seemed to stare at them. She noticed his eyes land on it, flick away, and saw a flush creep up his neck as he took a gulp of wine. She sliced some lamb from the leg and put it on a plate with stewed vegetables, 

"Warmer than I thought it would be," she said with a nervous laugh and tore chunks of bread from the loaf, "so..." she fumbled for a topic as they sat, "what happened to make the day so frightful."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad."

"You have a black eye, Steapa." She raised her brows and he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with one huge hand. Her eyes were drawn to them - the broad palms were scarred, the knuckles were slightly swollen, but his fingers were long and graceful. When she re-entered the moment he was watching her with a strange smile. She blushed, "I... my heads a little dizzy today," she said, and he nodded, smiled, and started the story from the beginning. 

***

The sun had set entirely and the candles were glowing and her whole body _itched_ with the need to feel his hands again. He had kept a careful distance since they sat down to eat, though his eyes seemed to burn into her whenever she stood. _What do you want, man, a signed confession?_ It was uncharitable, but she almost felt he was toying with her as they moved to the second bottle of wine. When he loosened his jerkin and lounged back in the chair, Aoife knew he was. Even if it was just a little. The small smile on his lips was overshadowed by the one in his eyes, and ever now and then they dipped to her legs. She knew why - the fine linen shone in the firelight, showing the silhouette of her legs as clearly as if they were drawn on with charcoal. 

"That's a beautiful dress," he said suddenly, words a little slurred, "you... it suits you." _You are toying with me, _the curl on his lips told her that he had known what he was walking into when the message arrived. His eyes told her that the dress pleased him just fine. But it was the way his hand flexed as if he was about to reach for her that told Aoife that it was the way she touched him at the door that confirmed it all for him. He was lounging, now, because he was at ease. Devoid of the panic that he was pushing for something she didn't want to give him or reading her affection the wrong way. And in that light, he could see how she had been toying with him in her own ways - the dinners, the small touches, the way she pulled her hair away from her neck and tilted her chin to speak to him... and he had decided to play with his food a little. _Pay back is a bitch, after all, but we can both play this game, boy._

"You think so?" She asked, voice high and uncertain. His eyes narrowed a little as if it had been just too much, but she stood and tugged it, "I was unsure... a few people have told me it's... not decent, but it reminds me of home."

"There's nothing wrong with it," he said in a voice that implied there would be everything wrong with it if she was with any other man. Aoife smiled and spun a little, giggling as she lost a little balance, "easy," he murmured and caught her as she stumbled, pulling her down into his lap. _He can't help it, bless him,_ "you nearly fell." His breath tickled her ear, 

"Good thing you're here to take care of me, then," she whispered back and he chuckled, 

"I'm not very skilled at hiding my intentions, am I?" Steapa asked, hand curling on her hip, 

"I wouldn't say that..."

"No?"

"You're fucking terrible," she said and laughed before patting his cheek and leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, "but you're no worse than me."

"No?" It was a question only in the loosest sense; his hands were starting to wander, his lips were on her jaw. Aoife squirmed free and plopped back into her own seat, 

"No."

Steapa huffed and leaned back for a few seconds before standing and draining his glass, 

"No," 

"No what?" 

"No more games, woman," he grunted and leaned to scoop her up, hands under her knees, making Aoife squeal and kick, "you're killing me." 

She wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking her arms over his shoulders as he turned and carried her to the bed. She had meant to tease him, make him sweat a little, but the words wouldn't come; his hand slithered up her thighs to grip her hips, pushing her dress up as they did so. When they came back down, they took her stockings with them, leaving her legs bare to the cool air. Those damn hands that had been so chaste at first were wandering, now, leaving no room in her mind for anything but trembling need. One cupped her arse, pulling her close while the other slid under the top of her dress to massage her breast, pinching her nipple sharply and eliciting a small yelp. Steapa grinned through the kisses and muttered something she couldn't quite understand... words were so much harder than she had expected. _Damn Saxons... it's barely a language at all,_

"Please," it was the only word she could remember, and he answered with a hot gasp in her ear and a soft chuckle, 

"Hmm?"

"What?" She blinked stupidly, and he laughed, 

"I said 'please' what, miss?"

"I..." her hand groped at his tunic, 

"Come on, girl, tell me,"

"I...uh..." she tugged it again, brain shifting through the hundreds of other words that were no use to him, "off.." He tugged it, mimicking her, 

"This? Off?" 

She nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly and he chuckled before complying. It was worth it, though; he was glorious in the firelight. All muscles and scars, the hair on his chest was soft under her fingers; he caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the palm, and laughed again when she mimicked the motion, softly this time. She kissed his palm, then his fingers, just as she had done before, but this time she slipped his thumb into her mouth, making him hiss and tense, 

"Christ..." He growled when she ran her tongue across it, pulling it free to trail down her chin before he pressed his hand to her throat and lifted the other, putting two fingers against her mouth. His eyes fluttered closed as she took them in, licking and sucking them gently as his breaths grew long and shaky. The hand on her throat tightened and relaxed repeatedly until he pulled his fingers free and let out a shaky sigh as he slid his free hand under her dress, slipping the wet fingers under her smalls to touch her slit. He hissed when he found her wet already, eyes flicking up to her face, brows raising, 

"You'd be worried if I weren't," Aoife whispered and he grinned, 

"True... did I do this, Miss Sloan?" He pushed the fingers into her, an obscene, wet sound filling the air as she drew in a silent gasp and nodded, "what?"

"Yes,"

"Yes," he murmured, "I'm glad... I wonder what else I can do..."

"Anything you want," Aoife's mouth said without her brains leave, and he grinned, leaning forward to loom over her, hips pushing her knees up towards her chest as he did, 

"Careful with promises like that, lady, I might ask you to make good on them."

"Anything," she repeated and shuddered as he pulled her smalls down, stopping to look at them before discarding them, 

"Quite a mess you made."

"You made," she corrected, 

"Of course, my apologies... will you forgive me?"

"If you make it worth my while," she said with a giggle and he nodded, tugging the laces of her dress until it was loose enough to slide down her arms, exposing her breasts. 

"Such a pretty little thing," he said with a wry grin, "look at this," a thumb ran over her nipple, making the flesh tense as he leaned to take it in his mouth, "pretty little pink thing... are you this colour all over?" For some reason that, more than anything, made her flush and look away. Steapa chuckled, "let's find out." He stripped her dress, a little too roughly, making her heart hammer, and then soothed her with gentle, open-mouthed kisses along her thighs and stomach. Hooking his elbows under her rear, gripping her hips with his hands, he pulled her up to meet him and closed his mouth over her clit, setting off a lightning bolt in her head. 

"Oh Gods," it was her voice, she realised, high and needy, that broke the air, _no complaining about the neighbours after this,_ but he only hummed and ran his tongue over her clit in a persistent, maddening motion that made her kick and squirm, lower back still raised from the mattress. When she almost broke free of his grip, Steapa lowered them to the mattress and moved his arms to pin her down, 

"Come on now, be at peace," he said with a teasing grin, 

"Fuck you," Aoife said with a laugh, gasping when he sank his teeth into her thigh, just hard enough to leave impressions, 

"Not yet." Steapa grinned and lowered his mouth to her again, _oh Gods that tongue shouldn't be allowed,_ she bit the heel of her hand to muffle the increasingly needy whines as stars started to bloom behind her eyes and the world closed in. Soon there was just her, his mouth, and that tight, white-hot feeling that was threatening to wash over her like a wave. A strong hand closed around her wrist and pulled her hand down, grabbing the other before she could cover her mouth again. Pinning them to her stomach, Steapa took a moment to look up, "let me hear you." 

So she did. 

***

When the world came back into focus, he was kissing her cheeks and mouth, whispering softly, though the words slipped through her like water, 

"I think everyone heard that," she said with a sheepish laugh, 

"Good," he grunted, "let them."

"So say you, you don't live around here!"

"I know, and I don't want anyone who does getting ideas," Steapa said and dropped to lie beside her, fingers trailing over her stomach and breasts gently enough... the look in his eyes, though, was hot and hard. Part sex, part possession, 

"Oh, so that was you marking your territory, was it?" Aoife asked, crossing her arms in an attempt to seem offended, but he only laughed and shook his head, 

"Of course not." He pushed her hair out of the way to whisper in her ear and then leaned to close his mouth on the underside of her breast, sucking gently at first, and then harder, making her gasp and squirm. When he pulled away with a wet smack, he grinned, "that was me marking territory." There was a reddish-purple mark where his mouth had been. 

"You son of a - ah" she gasped and pushed at him as his mouth closed on her neck, "no! Not there!" He pulled away reluctantly, but without complaint, 

"Ashamed of me, lady?" He asked, but he was smiling - _teasing, you absolute bastard,_

"No, but if you want to mark me quite that obviously, you'll need a wedding band," she said it with a laugh, but something flashed across his eyes, "oh Steapa, I'm teasing you -" he cut her off with another kiss,

"I'll keep that in mind," he rumbled, "but now I need to go to the gate to check the guards have changed properly." He swung his legs out of bed to grab his tunic and a pit opened in her stomach, 

"Was it something I said?" She asked, hating the anxiety that bled into her voice until he turned, brows raised, 

"No, no not at all," he all but melted at her feet, "I really do have work to attend to, I just didn't..."

"What?"

"Well, I didn't want to assume you'd want me to come back tonight."

"Well... I do," she said and placed her hand on his cheek. The first two kisses were chaste, but the third took on a heat that crawled between them and made him shudder, 

"Mercy," he muttered with a laugh, "or I'll go with evidence of my weakness for you." Aoife laughed and slid her hand down to cup him, whimpering when his hand closed around her wrist, "no further," he whispered hoarsely, "or I'll forget why I have to leave." 

"As you wish," she said and pulled her hand away, tingling with the memory of how hard and heavy he had felt under her palm, "come back quickly, then."

"Of course," he said with a sudden grin and stood, "count on it."


	3. Chapter 3

She was dozing when he knocked on the door. The sun was long gone and the cold night air seemed determined to cut her to the bone, 

"Quick, inside, it's cold as sin out here," Steapa said and hustled her inside, shutting the door behind him before kissing her cheek, "don't want you to get a chill."

"Isn't that sweet," Aoife said with a smile and took his hands, "Gods you're frozen, Steapa, how long did they have you standing out on those walls?"

"All the time I've been gone, they were a man short." He hummed as she pressed his hands to her face. Aoife tutted, 

"You'd think you were a recruit the way they have you running around! Do you want me to make you-"

"No, you don't have to make me anything, get back into bed and stay warm," he said but caught her as she started to turn, kissing her almost nervously before letting her go and removing his jerkin. From the warmth of the bed, Aoife watched him peel away his armour and weapons, 

"You don't have to keep your breeches on if you'd be more comfortable without them," she said quietly and he flushed, looking down, "it's up to you, but I have no objections." She shrugged and rolled over to give him privacy. After a few moments, she heard rustling and felt his weight on the bed. The whole mattress shook as he got settled, and when she shuffled back into him, she felt his bare legs with her feet. He closed his arms over her, 

"Is this...?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" Steapa asked. Aoife took his hand and slipped it under her nightdress, pressing it against her warm stomach in response, 

"Yes," she whispered, "now hush and get some heat in you."

"I... well, a lack of heat in me isn't a problem right now," he said and stiffened, "shit, I didn't mean to-" he trailed off as she started to laugh, "oh you think that's funny?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," she wriggled to face him, "you're blushing like a boy," she pinched his cheek and squealed when he snapped his teeth at her, 

"You were blushing right enough earlier," he said more deliberately, 

"The word you're looking for is 'moaning', Steapa," she said and grinned when he chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, rolling onto his back. When she draped herself over his chest, Aoife felt his heart hammering hard and fast, "what, you don't want to play this game anymore?"

"No, you're better at it than I am," he said with a good-natured snort. His body seemed to be made of ice as she wriggled to lie on him, 

"You're so _cold,_ " she whispered, pressing kisses to his chest until she realised he wasn't moving much at all - his breaths were coming in short, controlled gasps. _I can't be that heavy... oh,_ he twitched against her thigh, hard and definitely hot. Aoife raised her eyes and rested her chin on his chest, "is that a short sword down there or are you happy to be here?" It was the right thing to say; the tension broke. He laughed and covered his face with an arm, shaking his head, 

"Christ almighty, woman," there were tears at the corners of his eyes when he took his arm away, her cheeks ached from smiling, 

"Both?"

"Bo- what? No, for fucksake there's not a short sword down there!"

"Ah, so it's a long sword?"

"I... that's enough."

"A claymore?"

"Enough!" Every time he laughed, his stomach clenched, shaking another giggle from her. Aoife sighed and slid her hand down his chest, 

"Well, let's find out," she murmured and he stopped laughing, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. _Oh, Gods,_ she bit her lip and carefully hid the sudden thrill of trepidation, "I see." His eyes fluttered shut as she wrapped her hand around him and gently squeezed. _It can't be that big._ She kissed her way down his chest, 

"What...?"

"I'm returning your kindness," she chuckled, 

"You don't have to do that," his hand slid into her hair, scratching her scalp lightly, 

"I want to," she whispered into the soft skin of his stomach," _I need to know what I'm going to be dealing with,_

"I-" he started to speak, but the words dissolved into a moan as she ran her tongue from the base of his cock to the head. It was exactly how it had felt, of course. She closed her mouth around the head and sucked, gently at first, and then more firmly as she started to take him in. He made sweet, low sounds that were almost helpless. There was no bite in the way he moaned and whimpered, and when she reached up to touch his stomach she found it tense. He was gripping the headboard hard, like a man expecting pain, and his breaths were coming in short, ragged gasps, 

"Come on now," she whispered, "let me hear you."

"God," he laughed around the single word, sounding close to undone already, "you little witch, how-" the words, whatever they were, were swallowed by a wanton moan as she took him to the back of her throat, then, with a moment to prepare, relaxed her throat and took him to the root. A few things happened at the same time: a loud crack sounded in the room, Steapa let out a stream of curses in a long moan, and his hand tightened in her hair, holding her in place when his hips jerked involuntarily and his cock twitched. As if realising what he had done, his hand flew free almost immediately. When Aoife pulled away, a splash of warmth hit her breasts, "shit, fuck - I, oh God," the words were mixed in with whimpers, but the mortification in his voice and the burning shame on his face spoke clearly. Aoife covered her mouth and laughed, then leaned to kiss him 

"Been a while?"

"I... yes," he said, brows drawing together as the winced and looked away, 

"It's ok." She pulled him back for a kiss. "I'm just pleased I made an impression." He looked as if he wanted to say something, but just shook his head and chuckled, 

"You... did."

"So did you," she looked down and he groaned and covered his eyes, "oh stop being such a child, it happens. Stay here." She found a clean rag and dipped it in the bucket of clean water on the counter, wiping herself quickly before returning to him. He hissed, 

"Cold," he muttered, 

"I know." She dropped the rag and slid back into bed, smiling when he rolled to hold her, warm hand stroking her hip idly. Time passed in the way it only does at night - moving and staying still all at once. The hand slowly crept to her stomach, stroked her thighs. She felt him twitch at her back and smiled, _oh no, I am sleeping - if you want me, come get me._ He cleared his throat, 

"I... uh," his voice was hoarse, "if you... give me a few minutes..."

"Why should I give you another chance at this time of night?" She asked, but wriggled against him and reached tp squeeze his hip, softening the tone. Steapa smiled against her hair and rumbled, 

"Same reason you gave me the first one, I reckon." He pulled her closer, emboldened and putting some muscle into his movements. The hand on her hip was insistent, running to cup her arse as he nipped at her earlobe. Aoife rolled her eyes and lifted her leg, pushing it back to hook over his, pulling it forward to provide support. "Yes?" He grinned as he whispered into her ear, slipping his hand between her legs. Aoife nodded, gasping as he started to stroke her, "tell me," he gasped, 

"Yes," she managed to gasp and he rolled her onto her stomach. With the weight of him on her back, between her legs, she had never felt so small, he nudged against her, then seemed to second-guess himself and moved. Fingers pressed against her lips and she opened her mouth eagerly, sucking them as he rubbed her clit in small, tight circles. When he pulled his fingers away with a light pop, she whimpered, 

"Shh," Steapa hushed her, kissing her neck, "you'll wake your neighbours, 

"Says you."

"Yes... well," he chuckled and pushed the fingers into her, curling them just so. Aoife panted lightly, biting the pillow now and then as his fingers brought her to the edge an, almost without ceremony, pushed her over. His weight settled onto her back again while the last of the shudders were running through her, "is this...?"

"By the Gods Steapa just fuck me, please," she gasped and he froze for a moment, laughed, and took a fistful of her hair, 

"Careful, girl," he growled, "don't-"

"Fuck. Me."

He thrust into her, or tried to, 

"Fuck," she gasped, "maybe... fuck me gently," she said with a shaky laugh, 

"Are you alright?"

"Fine, I just forgot..."

"Forgot?"

"You're going to make me say it," Aoife laughed breathlessly, feeling his smirk in her hair as he gently rocked his hips,

"I wouldn't make you do anything," he hummed, and she sighed, _bastard,_

"You're a little larger than I'm used to," she said, rolling her eyes when he chuckled. The bed shifted, his weight disappeared, 

"Take it at your own pace, then," he said with a touch of tenderness that almost hid the smug edge. His broad hands ran over her rear and back. Aoife pushed her hips back and upwards slowly, then faster, finding a rhythm that balanced the burn in her legs with the need for friction, panting quietly until he slid a hand under her, 

"Oh Gods," she gasped, and gripped the sheets, hearing a rumble from him, _like fucking thunder, why do you always choose the giants? Silly woman._ Steapa gripped her arse firmly and then, almost experimentally, brought his palm down on it, making her yelp and then, to both their shock, moan. She didn't need to see the smile on his face to know it was there. He groaned quietly, 

"You're going to be the death of me, woman," he said in that low, hot honey voice, "and you know it."

"Don't know what you mean," she managed to gasp, 

"You don't?" 

"No." His hand closed in her hair and pulled her up as a thick arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close, forcing her to take more of him. 

"God you sound as sweet as you taste," he growled in her ear, almost animal as they sunk to the bed, "and you look like butter wouldn't melt in your damn mouth, but I see you leaning in with those low-cut bodices. The way you bare your neck..." he was panting now, mouth running away with him, "acting like you don't know how I'd love to sink my teeth into you." She moaned in response - it was all she could do, "the way you look up at me with those big eyes and pout when you want something as if I could ever say no to you." His arm tightened around her waist, turning into a steel bar, holding her in place as he started to thrust harder, faster, "you've got me like a pup on a string and you know it."

"Please." Aoife gasped, 

"Please? Please what?"

"I need?"

"I know what you need," he said almost mildly and reached under the pillow to hold her hand, locking his fingers with hers, "you take me so well, sweet thing, you were _made_ to take me." _I'm going to lose my mind,_ the heat of him and the feel of him and the smell of him - she was being swallowed whole and she couldn't be happier about it. Her hips were aching, protesting at the pressure, the weight, but her pussy throbbed and clenched with every movement. She closed her hand around his, squeezing tight as she came, "oh fuck," he pressed his face into her hair, letting out a few quick pants, thrusting hard enough to make her teeth rattle, and she heard, somewhere in the distance, his mind running away with his mouth. Hot, hard words that made her face blush even when they were formless. Then they snapped into focus, along with the muffled sound of her moans - he had covered her mouth, _thank the Gods for that,_ "- by Christ..." he laughed weakly, "you were made for fucking." She burned with lust and shame until he kissed her ear tenderly, "you're going to end me, girl, you know that?" He had said it so many times and she still didn't know what it meant, but he was rocking gently again, rubbing all the right places inside her. Until he pulled away, making her whimper, and rolled her onto her back, hooking his elbows under her knees, "look at you," he muttered hazily, as if in awe, and palmed her breast, rolling her nipple, pinching it, making her squirm as he slipped into her again. It was still a stretch. She gasped, 

"Please," she whimpered, 

"What?"

"Too much," she panted and slapped at his arms weakly, 

"Too much? This?" He thrust into her, hitting himself even as she yelped and squirmed, nodding, "its too much?" She nodded again, "no it's not."

"It is," she panted, 

"You're already taking all of me," he leaned and kissed her, "you're taking me so well,"

"Please,"

"My girl," he gasped as she dug her nails into his shoulders and strained to kiss him, "God you're perfect." It was her teeth nipping his lip, however, that seemed to break him. Steapa moaned and jerked, pulling away moments before he spilled, cock twitching as he shuddered, forehead pressed against hers. She felt his spend trickle down her slit, 

"Almost," she said, and though it was meant to be a warning, it sounded almost like a lament. He grinned and nipped her back, teeth catching her bottom lip, 

"Keep making those sounds and it might be next time."


End file.
